Time

by Naima Yetunde Hammonds

April is National Poetry Month, and before it ends, I wanted to honor my voice—my breath, my journey—with this piece. It’s called Time.

Time—

one of those things

we never get back.

It slips,

like breath between questions,

like pauses between purpose

and the moment I remember

who I am.

Sometimes I feel lost

in the space between now

and figuring it out—

pacing, not racing,

but still

losing

little exhales of myself

with every step.

I want to stretch,

not shrink.

Evolve, not fold

into smaller versions

that fit quieter rooms.

But my voice—

my voice feels stifled,

like it’s waiting

for permission

to be

loud again.

And maybe that’s what time

has come to teach me—

not how to win,

but how to breathe,

boldly,

without asking.

So here I am—

pen in hand,

spilling the truth I once tucked away.

This is my call back to self,

my final offering

for the month of poetry—

a reminder

that my voice

was never lost,

only resting.

Thank you for listening. Here’s to honoring our evolution, even when it’s quiet—and to never waiting too long to speak again.